


in which dave is ultimately at a loss for metaphors

by corpseparty (orphan_account)



Series: Embarrassing Kinkmeme Fills That I Am Going To De-Anon On Anyway [1]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Aged-Up Character, F/M, I'm very sorry, Plot What Plot, Sibling Incest, Tentacles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-20
Updated: 2011-11-20
Packaged: 2017-10-26 08:22:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/280843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/corpseparty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ghost Gauntlets + Authentic Wriggling Tentacle Dildos. Rose + Dave. It's really very simple.</p><p>Written for the kinkmeme.</p>
            </blockquote>





	in which dave is ultimately at a loss for metaphors

**Author's Note:**

> The original version of this fic may be found here: http://homesmut.livejournal.com/8284.html?thread=11350876

It turns out that alchemizing the Ghost Gauntlets with a card full of Authentic Wriggling Tentacle Dildos ™ produces a very interesting and expensive piece of equipment, requiring a staggering amount of grist to build. It requires an operator with a delicate touch and a test subject with a brave heart and experimental mind as well.

*

Dave is suspended in midair, sans sunglasses. Purple tentacles wind around his lean thighs, pulling them open; tentacles support his shoulders and chest. One winds itself delicately around his cock, and there is another probing carefully at his slick entrance.

Rose is at the controls, naked except for her headband.

“Is everything comfortable, Dave? Are you properly supported?” she asks.

Dave lets go of his tentacular armrests to give her a thumbs-up. “’S all cool, sis.”

Rose thinks perhaps she should have a talk with Dave about when is an appropriate time to bring up their ectobiological relationship. But she finds that she can let it pass. For all that he seems to be enjoying himself, poor Dave is no doubt a little nervous, and he does let his mouth run away with him when he’s nervous.

“Then let us proceed,” she says. There must be something of a manic look on her face, because Dave snorts and quips, “For science,” as she begins to work the slim tentacle inside him.

She has a vague sense of the pressure and resistance she encounters, but the control system lacks sensory detail. She’ll need to alchemize the nest of tentacles with something that will let her feel them as if they were her own appendages. For now, Rose relies on Dave’s reactions.

He closes his eyes and breathes out as she slips the tip of the tentacle inside him. It looks like some sort of relaxation technique, and an effective one, too, judging by the slackness of his hands.

“How’s that?” she asks.

“Uh,” he says. His pale eyebrows quirk. “Tolerable.”

Rose notes the way his accent emerges in the word. She starts to withdraw the tentacle, and he puts out a hand.

“Whoa, bro. I said ‘tolerable’, not ‘excruciatingly painful beyond the powers of man to describe or endure.’ Just…keep it there and do something else for a while.”

“As you wish,” says Rose, calling up yet another pair of tentacles to bind his arms and setting the one around his cock in motion. He jerks against his restraints in an entirely satisfactory fashion; she thinks she sees the flash of teeth on his lip.

Rose has never touched a cock; despite her reading material, her interests lie more with those of the feminine persuasion. She’s not sure how to best handle Dave’s, but with a little guidance from him, she sets up a pleasing rhythm.

There’s a flush rising in Dave’s cheeks. He looks pretty and helpless trussed up in her tentacles, although Rose knows this to be an illusion.

“Bondage becomes you,” she tells him, smiling.

“I am living your wizard slash fantasies,” Dave tells her, rolling his red eyes.

“Perhaps,” she says. “But it would be far more interesting to guess what fantasy of yours this reflects.”

“Let’s not,” says Dave, a little breathless, “you’ll kill my boner, Lalonde.”

His composure, while impressive and expected, is irritating. He could at least have the courtesy to look and sound as if he’s getting fucked by a host of writhing tentacles, even if only one of them is writhing in a non-invasive fashion at the moment.

Rose nudges the tentacle in his ass a little deeper. He sucks in a breath and cocks an eyebrow. His eyes, unprotected, burn into hers.

Rose gives him a smile with teeth and crooks the tentacle, searching.

The moment she finds his prostate, it’s painfully obvious. Dave's eyes widen; his mouth makes an inchoate shape.

“Is that the best you can do?” he says hoarsely.

“Clearly you are trying to manipulate me into fucking you harder,” says Rose, still smiling at him.

“Yeah,” he says, unabashed. “Guess I can’t appeal to sibling—”

 _“Dave.”_

“—sibling rivalry here.” He shifts in her many-armed grip. Then he lets his head fall back and executes a wickedly accurate parody of the trembling, ravished apprentices that appear in her wizard slash. It’s embarrassing, amusing and stupidly arousing.

Dave raises his head to ask, “Do you want to defile my tight virgin ass with your eldritch phalli now?”

“Yes,” says Rose. “I think I’m convinced.”

He looks startled for a moment, but when she begins to delicately work the tentacle inside him, it melts away. He looks as though he’s listening to a song that’s impressed him, trying to figure out how the parts fit together. She keeps lightly stroking his cock to soothe him, pulls out to get more lube, slips back in, and this time he welcomes her.

“Yeah,” he says, trying to spread his legs a little more.

“Patience, Dave,” Rose tells him, keeping her motions slow and steady. He grunts. Attempting to keep up an impassive face is wearing on him, interfering with his enjoyment. She needs to distract him.

Rose takes another slender tentacle and runs it over Dave’s lips. He opens his mouth willingly, and she slips it in. He makes a face at the taste, but closes his lips anyway, and Rose is overcome with an urge to tell him what a pretty cocksucking mouth he has.

“You’re very lovely like that,” she says. “Take a little more for me—”

Obediently, he bends his head. He mouths it, runs his tongue over it, fellating it with gleeful abandon. Perhaps he’s playing her, perhaps not. She presses harder on his prostate, and he gives her a deep, genuine moan. He is sweating, she notes, and pre-come beads at the tip of his cock.

Rose speeds up, sliding in and out of his mouth and ass in smooth tandem. Dave watches her work on him through sleepy red eyes. He seems content to be trapped, hips rolling with her motions, jaw slackening to take her. When she brings up another slick tentacle and eases it into him, his head falls back in unfeigned ecstasy.

“Othe,” he says around the tentacle in his mouth. It's probably supposed to be her name.

She rewards him with short, solid thrusts, fascinated by the way his naked body works to take them, by the flush that’s spread across his chest, by his scarlet ears. When she shifts her angle a little more, he moans again.

She withdraws the tentacle in his mouth and asks, “Can I give you more?”

He gasps, “Bring it on, flighty broad,” and throws her a wet-mouthed, dazzling smile.

“Dave,” she says through her teeth, “oh, _Dave,”_ and brings up another tentacle to join the first one in his mouth.

He whimpers as she fills him, stomach muscles tensing, and Rose jams a hand between her legs. Penetrated and helpless and trying, however clumsily, to take her tentacles down his throat-- Dave is _unbearably_ hot like this.

His eyes flick open. When he sees her watching him, he croons something that might be “fuck yeah," high and soft. Then she starts jerking him off fast and his eyes actually roll back in his head.

Rose props one leg up on the desk and slams the heel of her hand against herself. “Look at me,” she orders. Dave can hardly focus, but he tries.

“You’re entirely lovely, you insufferable prick,” she gasps fondly, and he mumbles something around his mouthful, saliva escaping. She frees his mouth; she wants to hear him.

“—fuck, Lalonde, you’re like a, a, fuck, I—I can’t think of a—oh god do that again, please fuck, I’m gonna come, Rose please—”

She shoves her fingers into herself, and he cries out, as if he can feel her doing it, and she coils inside him as he pants and shudders and sweats, fills him full and holds him still and shoves herself into him and fucks his mouth. Her fingers claw into her thigh as she imagines holding his head still and forcing herself down his throat, and Dave is nearly sobbing he’s so close, hands clawing desperately at the air, crying out and finally shrieking at the top of his lungs as he comes.

“Dave,” she grates out. She’s not done with him yet.

He shudders and leans toward her, fucked-out and vulnerable, and that does it. Somewhere she finds enough concentration to snarl _“brother”_ as she arches into her hand, nearly falling out of her chair with the force of it.

She quickly sets the device to put him down, and stumbles to him on weak, wobbly legs. He can hardly stand when his legs touch the ground, and she has to hurry to catch him. They flop awkwardly to the floor, and she pulls him onto her lap.

Dave smiles up at her lazily. He lays his head against her breast as she reaches between her legs and begins to work herself to a second climax.

His hand brushes her wrist. “Mind if I…?” he says.

“Go on,” she says, and pets his damp hair as he slides his hand over her cunt. His fingers are stiff and fumbling, but they are warm and they feel good. He strokes her awkwardly, then decides he’s had enough of it and squirms round to bury his face between her thighs, stubble scratching.

It’s an uncomfortable-looking position for him, so she leans back and hooks her legs over his shoulders. He makes a satisfied murmur and starts to lick. It feels nice, but only nice, and Rose realizes that her chance at a second orgasm right now has evaporated.

“Actually,” she says, “never mind.” She’s not comfortable with this. There's a certain irony to that.

Dave surfaces, looking a little disappointed. “Can’t get off unless I’m wearing robes and a fake beard. I see how it is,” he says.

“It’s not that,” says Rose. “I simply was not prepared for your face’s introduction to my genitals. I’m sorry your fragile psyche couldn’t handle that small rejection.”

This close, she can clearly see that Dave is stung. “Jesus Christ, you try to go down on a woman and she just cuts you open with verbal weaponry.”

“That’s not it,” protests Rose, feeling wretched. “I—I wouldn’t be able to come again, and I didn’t want to put you to unnecessary trouble.”

“Well fuck, my orgasmatron powers failed me,” says Dave, shrugging. “But we're cool. Can I just keep warming my hand in your muff?”

Rose snorts. “You may,” she says.

They curl up together, and Dave tucks his hand between her thighs again. He is quiet, and also disgustingly sticky. His calloused fingers dip gently into her. Rose glances over at the heap of quiescent tentacles. She’ll probably scrap and remake it rather than attempt to clean it up.

Strangely, she feels more sisterly toward him right now than she has in a very long time. She would wonder what that says about them, but she's already reasonably sure of the diagnosis they'd receive.


End file.
